operating table, crying and holding the
nurse's hand, while the doctors got him
ready. The hospital ceiling was white
foam tile with fluorescent lights, and the
doctors had looked to Billy as if they
were levitating beneath them, beneath
the lights---as if they, the doctors, had
descended from heaven to perform elec-
troconvulsive therapy.
Someone was coming toward the
car. A figure moved between the trees
beside the creek. It was a boy carrying an
umbrella. He was skinny and wore jeans
and no shirt. He stepped down to the
bank and splashed across to the car with
the umbrella over his head. Billy rolled
down the window, and the rain swept
in, drenching him.
"Are you the doctor?" the boy said.
"Doctor?" Billy said.
"Luther said he saw car lights. We
prayed you'd come. Are you smoking
pot?"
"I'm stuck on this rock," Billy said.
"I see that," the boy said.
"I was making good progress, and
the next thing I knew the wheels were
spinning."
"Creeks aren't the best for driving in
a storm," the boy said.
Billy rolled up the car window. He
opened the door and put out his foot.
The rock was massive and slick; the
creek was about to overtake it. He eased
himself out and stood clear of the car.
He was still wearing his grandfather's
driving gloves, and holding the joint.
He lowered one foot into the creek,
leaped in, and lunged toward the bank,
where his feet sank into the wet earth.
"I'm fine," he said. "I made it."
"Don't you have your doctor's bag?"
the boy asked.
He looked to be twelve or thirteen,
the age of Billy's students, but Billy
didn't recognize him.
"It's our mother," the boy said.
"Your mother?"
"She's up that way." He held the um-
brella over Billy, who said, "What's
wrong with her?"
"It's cancer."
"I'm sorry," Billy said.
"She's up here," the boy said.
There was no need to lock the car or
take the key. Billy put the joint in his
shirt pocket with the pills---it would get
soaked; he should have left it in the car,
but there was nothing he could do
about that now---and said, "I doubt I'll
be able to help her. I want you to know
that," and then followed anyway, a few
steps behind the boy, to the place where
the boy had crossed the creek on his
way down. Billy watched the boy wade
through the water, and then slogged in
after him. The creek here was deep and
fast. The car would be all right or not.
Billy leaned against the torrent and
struggled up onto the bank, and then he
and the boy pushed ahead, slipping in
the mud and on the mossy ground,
pushing branches away from their faces.
Once, Billy stumbled, and the boy held
the umbrella over him while he got up.
The umbrella was torn and bent, and
water poured down it onto Billy's neck.
They went over a rise, and then
walked down along what looked like a
lane---maybe the land had been cleared
at one time---a grassy, open promenade
between the trees. The lane led into a
hollow. There was a cabin, a shed, really,
with a sinking roof and small square
windows and a chimney overtaken by
ivy. The cabin featured a porch, though
not much was left of that, only a few
boards elevated on piled stones, with no
steps leading up from the yard to the
door. The cabin had two front doors,
oddly---one beside the other. Billy didn't
see an actual road, or a car parked nearby,
but there was trash littering the ground.
The boy hopped onto the porch,
closed and shook the umbrella, and
stomped clay from his shoes. Billy
climbed onto the porch---he had to
heave himself up---and kicked the red
mud off his own heels. The boy pushed
open the door on the left. "I brought the
doctor," he called inside.
"Show him in," a man answered.
The boy held the door. Billy had to
duck under the frame. Water ran from
every part of him. The floor inside was
missing in places, and the air felt cold,
like a draft from underground. Water
dripped through the roof. Two win-
dows, one in the rear and one on the
side of the cabin, let in faint light---their
panes, if they'd ever had any, were gone.
Billy's eyes were adjusting. The cabin
seemed bigger from inside than from
out. As he came in, he saw, to the left of
the door, a tumble of bags and suitcases.
A dividing wall ran down the middle of
the cabin, splitting the space---that ex-
plained the two front doors---and there
was an interior door, partway down the
dividing wall, leading to the cabin's
right-hand side. The room on the left,